Duty to the Dead
by ObsessivelyOdd
Summary: They say spies have no loyalty. They are wrong. But what happens when Alex finds something he is willing to sacrifice everything for? Can he find it in himself to betray his country, and do what is right? Rated T for violence and some strong language.
1. Summons Thee

_A/N: I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this. I have a couple of chapters lined up, and a few plot twists, but nothing definite. My first (intended) chaptered fic._

_DISCLAIMER: I write fanfiction. By definition, I am therefore a FAN. This means I cannot own the Alex Rider series. But hey... If you enjoy paradoxes (is that the plural? Can't say it sounds normal) feel free to believe what ever you wish._

***

Alex was slumped in front of the TV, not really paying attention to the game show playing there. He figured it probably wasn't worth watching. He turned up the volume anyway, to drown out the raging storm outside. Jack had gone to bed hours ago, but he couldn't sleep. Something about the rolling thunder had put him on edge; it seemed foreboding. The lights flickered and went out. He swore mildly under his breath and ducked into the kitchen to find a candle and match. Despite the raucous climate, the silence within the house was deafening. He rolled his shoulders slightly, as if trying to rid them of an invisible weight, and returned to the living room, candle in hand. He picked up the book lying on the coffee table and turned to the page he had been reading, before becoming distracted by third-rate late night television. He was reading it for school, and he had to finish this scene for tomorrow. He had never really got to grips with Shakespeare, although he had to admit that Macbeth was a good play – once you had spent half an hour interpreting the language. He read the last two lines:

"_Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell  
That summons thee to heaven or to hell."_

He dropped the book carelessly. There, he had read it. No doubt there would be a thousand subtle nuances and meaning that he had missed, but it was almost midnight, and he was too tired to care.

He was already on his way to bed when the doorbell rang.

"Who the hell would be ringing at this hour?" he muttered, equally annoyed and curious. He seriously considered ignoring it, but in the end his curiosity won out. He was a spy for a reason after all. _Had been_ he corrected himself mentally. He wasn't one anymore. He was well out of that world.

Sighing, he stalked down the stairs towards the door. He pulled it open and blinked.

There was a woman there. She was soaked to the skin and it was obvious that her wet cheeks were not just due to the rain.

"Please…" she whimpered. "You have to help us. He told me that if we were ever in trouble we should come here."

Alex shoved his surprise and curiosity aside as he noted her white skin… and the little boy clutching at her dripping skirt.

He stood back, speechless, and motioned for them both to come in.

He led her through to the kitchen and sat her down, deliberately keeping his hands busy making a pot of tea while his head tried to figure out which question to ask first.

He decided in favour of the obvious.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Amethyst. And this," here she nudged the little boy forward. He really was the most angelic child. He had sandy blond hair that curled slightly around his ears and the bluest blue eyes that Alex had ever seen. "This," continued Amethyst, "is David."

Alex smiled and reached out a hand to the toddler. "He's adorable. Is he yours?"

She smiled and nodded, reaching out to run her hand through her son's flaxen hair. Alex sighed and pulled his finger gently out of the little boy's grasp.

"Why are you here?" he asked eventually.

"He said that if anything were to happen – after he was g-gone – that you would protect us. He said we could trust you to look after us. He said you were a good man, Alex Rider. Like your father."

Alex looked into her large, trusting eyes and asked is final question.

"And who, exactly, is 'he'?"

"Yassen Gregorovitch."

***

_A/N: Please, sir, I'd like some more... so if you could just click on that little button that says review and feed me... :D_


	2. Life's Fitful Fever

_A/N: So welcome to chapter to of Duty to the Dead. I was going to leave this until next week, but all your wonderful reviews made me feel guilty about leaving you in suspense. I would also like to apologise; normally I try to reply to reviews, but I managed to delete the alerts, and I haven't quite figured out how to do the replies straight from the site yet. Fear not – I'm sure I will soon. Thank you for all your wonderful, nourishing, inspiring reviews and I hope you enjoy the next chapter. Sorry it's quite short, though still longer than chapter 1._

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Alex Rider. If you would like to change this state of affairs please send a large check to my castle._

***

To say Alex was shocked would have been an understatement. Alex was way past shocked. Who wouldn't be? Yassen Gregorovitch was dead, and yet somehow, here were two people who claimed he had said the he, _Alex,_ would protect them.

Yassen Gregorovitch. There was just so much about the man - so much history. It was almost untrue. The man had killed his uncle; he had worked with his father; he had saved Alex's life; Alex's father had saved his life… the list seemed endless. No matter how Alex weighed it, he ended up confused. If only he had had a chance to _talk_ to the man. In all honesty, what he was lacking was a sense of closure – closure he would never –_could never_- get.

Alex groaned and sank his head into his hands. "Why are things never simple?" he mumbled under his breath.

To Amethyst, he said, "So why do you need protection? From who?"

Amethyst bit he lip. "I-I don't know…" she whispered. "He just said that if ever something were to happen to him and we got into trouble we should come here. And then he vanishes without a trace for two months and we get a call saying that he's- he's d-dead!" she stuttered over the final words as a sob forced its way out of her throat. Alex rose and fetched a box of tissues, gently handing one to her as he sat down. She had obviously been close to Gregorovitch, but how close? Was she his sister? His lover? His best friend? Some how he couldn't see her being any of those things to Gregorovitch, but then, he couldn't see the assassin letting anyone get this close to him at all.

Maybe now wasn't the best time to ask, he decided, looking at her tear-stained cheeks.

"And then what happened?" he asked, as gently as he could.

"These m-men burst into our apartment;" she stammered. "They were yelling something in another language, I couldn't understand them. Then one of them p-pulled a g-g-gun on D-David." Here she broke down completely, and Alex walked around the table. He crouched down next to her and rubbed her back soothingly, trying to calm her hysterics. Her arms latched around his neck and she buried her face in his shoulder. Within seconds his top was soaked, but he didn't want to upset her more by leaving, no matter how uncomfortable this was.

After a few minutes, her sobs grew quieter and her breathing calmer. He lifted her hair away from her face and saw that she was asleep. Judging from the large bags under her eyes, she was exhausted. Slowly, so as not to disturb her, he stood up and swung her into his arms. He looked down at the child sitting under the chair. He had not spoken a word, not made a single noise, during the entire exchange and he still sat there, looking at Alex solemnly, if slightly pale. Alex sighed. "David, do you want to come and help me put your mummy to bed?" he asked. Gods, he sounded like a moron. He really wasn't good with kids. Apparently it worked, however, as David slowly nodded and crawled out of his nook. His hand fastened on the leg of Alex's baggy jeans, his other rising to his mouth almost automatically. Alex smiled. The kid sucked his thumb. He had done that as a child.

Slowly, he led the way to the spare room and put Amethyst on the bed. She was still soaking from the rain, he realised, and cursed mentally. He couldn't exactly change her clothes. He had no other option. He went to wake up Jack. It took five minutes to explain – or rather not explain – the situation. Five minutes after that, Amethyst was tucked up in the bed, with David beside her, wearing one of Jack's baggy T-shirts and finally dry.

Jack rounded on Alex. "What on earth is going on?" she hissed. Alex sighed and began to explain.

***

Jack wasn't happy with him. She didn't trust Amethyst at all and while she had fallen instantly in love with David, she couldn't quite forget all those missions Alex had been on where he was supposed to simply provide cover by being a child. She had nearly called the police when Alex had said that Yassen had sent them; it was only some quick talking on Alex's part that had dissuaded her. She was currently sitting at the breakfast table, ignoring him and Amethyst. She wasn't having quite as much luck with David who kept coming up to her and staring at her from her knee. Every so often, her hand would creep out to stroke his mess of blond hair, and she would give Amethyst a confused look. Alex knew what was wrong. She _wanted_ to trust them, but she was too scared of Alex getting hurt to let her guard down. Alex sighed and picked up his school bag. He really needed to get going soon, or he was going to be late. He smiled at Amethyst and sent a warning look at Jack. He just hoped that she would trust him on this, but she hadn't seen Amethyst in hysterics last night. All she saw was the pale, composed woman sitting silently at their kitchen table, sipping a cup of Jasmine tea. On impulse, he leant down and hugged Jack.

"Be nice." He whispered in her ear. "Just trust me on this one, please?"

She nodded slowly and Alex smiled.

"I'll see you all later, ok?" he said, before leaving the house.

***

School really wasn't that exciting. In fact it was incredibly boring. Alex had been right about missing virtually everything in the scene of Macbeth the night before, and they spent nearly the entire lesson discussing it – or rather the teacher spent the entire lesson telling them about it while they all dutifully pretended to pay attention.

At the end of school, Alex was only too relieved to get out. He was less relieved to see the conspicuous black Mercedes with tinted glass.

He hadn't seen a car like that in a year and a half. He had hoped he would never have to see one again. But he should have known: once you're in, there's no way out…

***

_A/N: Please review, they'll help my imagination to grow up big and strong! P.S. __**Emmy-Loo**__: Stop fishing. You'll find out soon!_


	3. Let not light see

_DISCLAIMER: The fairies said I owned Alex Rider. They lied._

***

Alex was unable to sleep - the events of his meeting with MI6 were weighing heavily on his mind. It was the early hours of the morning – he reckoned about half past five. The darkness still shrouded the unveiled windows, though the moon had set during Alex's brief, fitful sleep and the stars were hidden by the first lightening of darkness to dawn. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, and the morning larks twittered and trilled happily outside his window. It seemed the perfect blend of night and day.

_Twilight._

The thought echoed around Alex's head. This was where he lived his life, unable to fully flourish in the light, unwilling to dwell in the dark. It was a delicate balance. He was not a murderer, and yet he had killed people. He had come to terms with this and had finally realised, after months of nightmares and several sessions with a psychiatrist, that it wasn't his fault. But what MI6 were now asking him to do...

Was it really evil to kill for your country? Could one life ended deliberately really be justified by countless others saved? It all came down to the age-old question: can the ends justify the means? Alex guessed it was so, but would he be able to live with himself knowing that he had willingly pulled the trigger and ended someone's life? Someone's son would die, possibly someone's father, friend, lover. The list was endless. How many people would grieve – unknowing of why the man had died? How many times would his name be cursed with hatred and anguish if he accepted? Just how much of his soul was Alex willing to sacrifice for his country?

It would be different this time – they had promised that. They would not blackmail him; he would receive proper medical treatment and therapy sessions if he needed, or wanted, them; they would not pull him out of school for weeks at a time with no explanation and no warning. He had nearly failed his GCSE's because of them and, if they hadn't stopped using him when they did, he almost certainly would have done. They had promised that the same would not happen with his A-levels. They wanted him to become a fully fledged Agent – the youngest on record.

And Alex had to admit he was tempted. He had enjoyed sinking back into normal life, but he had not been very successful. He no longer flinched at loud noises and he no longer screamed out in fear and pain in night but the watchfulness was still there. It was as if he was waiting for his past to catch up with him. And – though he was loath to admit it – everything seemed just a little more grey without it. He needed the thrill of it, the pride that came from succeeding where others would fail, the hope that came from saving lives. He sighed and rolled over to look at his clock. The red, digital screen flashed at him, telling him that it had just turned six o'clock. He would not get any more sleep now. He rolled out of bed and headed towards the shower, his mind still heavy with thought. Would he actually be able to do it? Physically, yes, he remembered only too well the perfect bulls-eyes he had shot at Scorpia, but he hadn't been able to shoot Mrs Jones when ordered to...

But surely this was different? This would be saving lives – and no matter how much MI6 had lied and manipulated him, he knew that they had only done what was in the direct interests of Britain. And he was older now – not some fourteen year old kid who had seen too much and been left broken by it, but a young man, with the bravery to risk death and the determination to see the job done. He could do this.

Alex Rider, Agent.

It didn't sound completely unrealistic. He knew he would probably become an agent, it was a certainty that seemed to have sunk into his very bones, but could he become what they wanted?

Alex Rider... assassin.

***

_A/N: Sorry it's short! And thanks to everyone for all your wonderful reviews... they make me so happy! (hint hint, nudge nudge... the button is right there)_


	4. All the Perfumes of Arabia

_A/N: Ok so there has been a massive change in the story, or rather how I manage the story. It is no longer just whatever pops into my head at the time, with very little direction. It now has an actual __**plot**__, planned out in __**chapters**__. I know, amazing isn't it? I also decided to give my chapters names, rather than just chapter 1, chapter 2 etc. The names are not mine, they are all quotes from a play. They may not appear to make sense on their own, but if the context in the play is taken, then they do. Oh and for those of you who asked, Alex is sixteen in this fic._

_DISCLAIMER: *closes eyes, scrunches face up and wishes*...  
*sigh* Nope still not mine._

_***_

A man and a woman stood in front of a glass window, looking into a white room. The focus of their gaze was a metal bed that looked as if it had been taken from the nearest hospital. There was a man lying there, surrounded by drips and medical machines. He seemed little more than a corpse, his skin having lost any colour it once had after a prolonged time indoors and his once perfect muscle tone withered from lack of use.

"Why do we keep him alive, Alan?" asked the woman eventually. "He is never going to wake up, and even if he does it will take him months to get back into shape, and that's only if he doesn't escape. You forget we have no guarantee that he will agree to work for us."

"He will work for us," said the man. "He won't have a choice. I doubt Scorpia will be lenient about his failure – even if it did almost cost him his life. And he has plenty of reason to not work for them."

"The choice isn't between us and them, he could choose neither. He is not some teenager that we can manipulate into working for us."

"No," agreed Blunt slowly, ignoring the subtly indicated outrage on Alex's behalf. "He is not a teenager, but all that means is that we have to find different leverage to use."

Mrs Jones narrowed her eyes and looked at her boss. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"He has a son."

***

Twelve men and women were sitting around a dark oak table. For a long time, they sat in silence until finally, one of them spoke.

"There is a rumour that concerns us."

One of the plainly-clothed women looked up sharply. "A rumour concerning a certain assassin?" she asked.

The first man nodded. "I am glad to know that you are so well versed on the situation." There was a smattering of nods throughout the room. They knew the rumour.

"What is our best course of action?" asked another.

"We retrieve him. Cray was a mistake. We should not have gotten involved. The man was insane."

"If they tell him... he will not work for us."

"He will."

Silence greeted this comment, and the man was moved to explain.

"About a week ago, some of my men were sent on a mission, to capture a certain child. They failed, and were duly punished for it. We under estimated the child's mother. If we capture the child, it will not only be his father who could be an asset."

"The child is..." began one, questioningly.

The man nodded in confirmation.

"His son."

***

Alex sighed as he saw the black car at the gates. It had been there every night this week, and every night he had given them the same answer. _I haven't decided yet._

He couldn't decide. He didn't want to do it, but could feel the attraction the idea held for part of him. It was the same part that silenced his regret for those who had died. He didn't like that part of himself. It was cold and ruthless. It was the part that made him an amazing spy, and an appalling human. If he ever gave into it, he knew, he would be giving away his humanity and yet to deny it completely like this was tearing him in two. He had never managed to reconcile it; he had never managed to outcast it. It was the ruthlessness that allowed him to complete a mission with no thought to personal injury or death and no regret for the deaths of those who he was pitted against. Without it he would be dead; with it, he felt he was barely alive.

He rolled his shoulders to banish his dark thoughts and shook his head at the waiting driver. The man simply smiled and shrugged before driving off. They both knew the deal by now.

Alex crossed to his bike and unchained it from the fence, his thoughts turning to Amethyst, Jack and David. After a rocky start, Jack and Amethyst had become friends, almost sisters. He supposed it was only natural. They were about the same age, and both doted on David. The child loved the attention and had slowly begun to speak more and more as his initial shyness retreated. He now chatted almost constantly around Jack, frequently throwing her, being equally as likely to talk in Russian or French as English.

But his obvious fluency in most European languages had given Alex suspicions as to his parentage and he had resolved to talk to Amethyst about it that night.

The journey home didn't take long and Alex made it to the front door just as the first, fat raindrops fell from the clouded sky. It had been threatening to rain all day and Alex was glad to leave the cold, murky weather in preference for the warmth of his house. He smiled as he heard a peel of childish laughter and followed the noise.

In the living room, he found David sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, playing with a set of Meccano that Alex recognised as his from when he was younger. He noticed Amethyst on the sofa, watching her son contentedly and smiled. The entire scene was just so domestic that it seemed out of place here, in a house where spies had lived and worked.

"Alex?" called Jack's voice from the kitchen. "I'm making pasta – do you want chicken in the sauce?"

"Anything's fine, thanks Jack!" he yelled back, sliding onto the sofa beside Amethyst. "We need to talk," he murmured to her.

Amethyst looked at him and sighed. "Yes, he is."

Alex didn't need to know how she knew. She had obviously been expecting it. She looked nervous, now, as if unsure how he would react. "Yassen Gregorovitch is David's father?"

Amethyst nodded mutely. "We were together for years. I gave up so much for him. We had no secrets from each other. When I found out he was dead... I just... wanted to collapse... give up. But I couldn't – I had to look after David."

Alex nodded. It surprised him that he wasn't angry, but then he would probably have been just as surprised if he had been angry, his feelings towards Yassen were so mixed.

"I don't understand any of this," he hissed, frustratedly. "So his father was a contract killer. Why are they going after him? He's just a child!"

A thought occurred to him and he turned to Amethyst. "They couldn't be after you, could they?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I don't see why they would be. Yassen was careful – very careful – about linking the two of us in writing. We never got married; his name isn't even on David's birth certificate."

Alex shook his head in confusion and sighed. He didn't like mysteries, they normally turned out to be far more sinister than you could ever imagine.

On enquiry, Jack said that dinner would be about an hour, so Alex grabbed a jacket and headed out for a walk. He didn't care about the rain right now; he just needed to clear his head.

The rain was hammering on the pavements and Alex was quickly soaked to the skin, his flimsy summer jacket offering virtually no protection from the wrath of the elements. He pulled his iPod from his pocket and put on some music.

Between the pounding rain and the rock music, Alex never heard the footsteps following behind him. Something sank into his shoulder. He quickly turned around to face his attacker, but the world started to spin. He blacked out.

_***_

_A/N: Did anyone else play with meccano as a kid? I was always hopeless, but my brother used to play with it constantly! Three guesses as to who kidnapped Alex. A virtual Yorkie bar to whoever gets it first. Of course... guesses will only be accepted in return for a review... lol._


	5. A Harness on our Backs

_A/N: Ok so I was going to post this tomorrow, but I thought I'd put it up tonight instead. Don't you feel lucky? *silence* Erm... *pouts* Fine then. Maybe I just won't post!_

_Just kidding._

_WARNING: Scenes of violence in this chapter..._

_DISCLAIMER: Who honestly thought I owned Alex Rider?_

_Point Made._

***

Alex groaned as he acknowledged the splitting headache. Just once it would be nice to get knocked out without later feeling as if someone had taken an axe to his brain. Actually... it would be nice to not get knocked out at all, but he guessed that wasn't really an option. He took a moment to take note of his surroundings. They weren't especially inspired. He was in a bare room with no window and a very serious, very locked, looking door. His shoes had gone, as had his watch and everything from his pockets. He was, in a word, stuck.

He heard footsteps approaching him, along with muffled voices. He strained to hear over the slight ringing in his ears and managed to make out two distinct tones...

"Why _him_... Surely he's caused..."

"We need... we don't have... information... Jones and Blunt... more likely that he will know than others. Unless... take... Jones herself?"

The second voice mumbled a reply that Alex couldn't make out, covered as it was by the opening of the door.

"Mr Rider," said the owner of the second voice. He was obviously the one in charge. "Welcome back to Scorpia."

***

Jack was frantic with worry. Alex hadn't come home last night. His phone was off too – he _never_ turned his phone off unless he was on a mission. She would wait until quarter past nine then call his school. Maybe he had gone straight there. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she just had to hope.

Amethyst was with David in the living room. To look at her you would think everything was fine, but Jack could see the tense line of her shoulders and the slightly glassy look in her eyes. She was simply acting for her son's sake. Jack couldn't fault her. As much as she feared for Alex, she knew that falling to pieces would only make things harder for them all. She stared at the clock, willing the minutes to tick by faster. At five past she grabbed the phone and dialled the number.

"Hello this is Brooklands, Jane Bedfordshire speaking."

"Oh... Hi. It's... Jack Starbright," she began shakily. "I was j- just wondering i-if Alex showed up at school today." Jack fought to keep the sobs from her voice. She almost managed.

There was a pause on the other end, broken only by the tapping of a keyboard. "I'm sorry, Miss Starbright, but Alex hasn't come in today." She paused again then added, her tone laced with concern, "Is everything ok?"

"Y-yes," stammered Jack. "Yeah... everything's fine... I – I've got to go."

She hung up the phone and sat down at the table, numbly. It just wasn't fair. Why did it always have to be Alex – _her_ Alex. He was still just a teenager! Slowly her hands reached towards the phone again. There was still one number she had to call.

"Good morning. This is the Royal and General Bank, how may we help you?"

Jack grimaced. The receptionist sounded perky and blond. It was completely out of place, considering the truth behind the facade.

"I need to speak with Mrs Jones," she said, calmly.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but there is no-one with that name working here." It was a text book answer, completely lacking humanity behind its bubbly exterior.

"Yes there bloody well is," growled Jack, "and I need to talk to her."

"I'm sorry, M-"

"Please," begged Jack, helplessly, "Please, you have to put me through, it concerns Alex Rider."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Jack was really starting to dislike these pauses, she decided. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Starbright. We are connecting you now."

Jack breathed a small sigh of relief as a faint click indicated the change of line.

"Miss Starbright?" said a voice. "This is Mrs Jones. You said you had important information concerning Alex?"

***

Alex winced as his arms were pulled tightly behind him and tied at the elbows and wrists using plastic tags. Mentally, he ran through the rules of being interrogated. There were only three that seemed to hold any relevance.

Don't give any personal details. It gives them a way into your life, and then into your mind.

Count to ten before answering any question. You do not want to accidentally let something slip.

Do not answer ANY questions until you know why they are asking. You will not know the value of the information you are giving them.

Alex could remember the sergeant from Brecon Beacons yelling the rules at them. At the time he had thought he wouldn't need them. He had been right, to some extent. With the psychopaths he had initially dealt with it was rather unnecessary: they weren't interested in answers, they were interested in pain. With Scorpia, it was going to become necessary, and _fast._

He watched warily as the man approached. "Mr Rider. I am Dr Junkov. I am going to give you a chance to answer my questions. After that, my colleague will take over the questioning."

Alex winced as the "colleague" tightened the plastic tags until they were digging deep into the skin on his wrists.

"Question number one. What do you know about Yassen Gregorovitch."

Alex mentally ran through all the information he possessed, it all seemed pretty harmless now that the man was dead, but that just made him more suspicious of their motives. He kept silent.

Junkov's eyes flashed in annoyance and he whispered icily, "We will get the answers we want out of you, Rider- one way or another." He moved away and Alex felt himself jerked roughly to his feet by the man behind him. He winced as his already strained shoulders were yanked backwards, and almost lost his balance. Regaining it just in time, he paced slowly backwards, in time with the hard, insistent tugs on his arms. Once they reached the wall, it didn't take long for them to immobilise him, despite Alex's best attempts at resistance. His ankles were chained to the wall and his arms were attached to it as well, but as they were still tied painfully behind his back, he couldn't see how.

"I will give you one last chance, Mr Rider," said Junkov. "Tell me what I want to know." He paused, thinking. "Actually let me make it even easier for you. Tell me what you know about his relatives."

David's face flashed into his mind. _His relatives..._ The truth hit him like a stone: they wanted David, and they wanted _him_ to give him to them.

"Still no answers?" asked Junkov, silkily. "Very well. It's over to you, Peters."

Alex winced as Peters withdrew a knife, the fluorescent light reflecting sickeningly off it. He felt it press against his neck, almost tenderly, before blurring in two quick slashes that severed Alex's t-shirt and left his chest bare and vulnerable. The blade trailed thoughtfully over Alex's many scars, resting on his old bullet wound for a second. Alex held his breath, but the knife moved on. Silently he thanked whatever power had been watching over him just then: he did not think that he could handle the amount of pain he would receive from a wound there.

Alex bit back a yell as the silver blade suddenly sliced cruelly into his skin, separating flesh from flesh and leaving a blinding trail of red down his pale chest.

"You know," said Junkov conversationally, "It really is a challenge to skin a human and keep them alive at the same time. We really should thank you: Peters has wanted to practice for a while now, he is ecstatic to finally have the opportunity."

Alex's sarcastic retort was cut off by a gasp of pain as the knife performed its evil task once again. He could feel the warmth of his blood running over his stomach. His breath was coming in ragged pants that he tried without success to calm. He leant back against the wall, substituting the strain on his shoulders for strain on his wounds. It was agonising but then, it had been anyway.

"Try and keep him awake to answer the questions, Peters. It really is so inconvenient when they pass out. It undoes all our hard work." Peters grunted in reply then Junkov turned to Alex. "Mr Rider. This is your last chance-"

"Good," spat Alex. "Because then I won't have to bother refusing you again!"

Junkov scowled at him. "As I was saying, this is your last chance before a piece of your skin is torn away. Are you sure you wouldn't like to talk?"

Alex glanced nervously at Peters. They were actually going to tear off his skin? He swallowed, debating whether to tell them something or not. But David's face flashed in front of him once more. Was he really going to subject a child to this? Was he really going to hand _David_ over to these evil people? The answer was obvious: no he wasn't, he couldn't. He would never be able to live with himself if he did. He firmly and pointedly pressed his lips together. Peters snarled and reached for his knife, cutting away a flap of skin. Alex gritted his teeth against the pain. He would not scream for them. He would not betray David. It really was ironic. MI6 had sought to turn him into a weapon, and they had succeeded, but they had only given him something to aim for, never something to die for. Apparently that took the son of a contract killer.

Alex screamed loudly as he felt Peters take hold of the flap of skin and yank downwards. He could feel the warm grip of unconsciousness seeking him. He passed out, with laughter on his lips.

***

_A/N: Ok so the ending was probably a little random... a burst of brotherly love in the middle of a torture session? Sorry I think I'm crazy. But the men in white coats haven't come to drag me off yet so you're stuck with me._

_On another subject... I'm getting a little nervous about the direction the story is taking and want to get an opinion, but it will involve a LOT of spoilers... so... basically I'm asking for a faithful plot-bunny beta... Anyone interested? Just PM me or say in your review. Which you ALL will obviously be giving... *Glares* Well... why haven't you written one yet?!_

_A/N2: Thanks to everyone who offered, or was going to offer, but I now have a beta. Thanks!_


	6. In Deepest Consequence

_A/N: Whoo! A new update! Don't you just love me? ...No?! Uh! Fine..._

_Ah well... can't please everyone!_

_DISCLAIMER: Ok, I can't be bothered to think up a joke for this. It's not mine, and it probably never will be._

***

Alex woke up to the sound of voices. He was still chained to the wall, and the blood was still trickling over his stomach. The sight of the long strip of skin hanging from his breastbone to just past the waist band of his jeans was making him feel sick. Groggily, he tried to focus on the voices, but the pain was almost overwhelming. He let his head fall forward onto his chest.

It was almost ten minutes later when a voice startled him out of his semi-comatosed state.

"Mr Rider." Alex looked up and glared. It was Junkov again. "I am glad to see you are awake again. I must say I am impressed, most victims take far longer to come around after that, and they normally require medical treatment immediately to prevent shock. You are obviously stronger than your age would seem to allow. Now, are you willing to talk, or do we repeat the process?"

Alex let out a hoarse laugh. "You can't repeat the process, Junkov. Every time you do, I'll pass out, and then you won't get any answers."

Junkov scowled. The brat was unfortunately right. "I'm sure we can find more... persuasive techniques, Rider. It's in your best interests to tell us what you know."

Alex remained silent and Junkov's glare deepened. "Peters!" he snapped. "I am going. When I get back I want him alive and ready to talk." He paused by the door and said, maliciously, "If pain isn't going to work, I'll have to find something else."

***

Jack started out of her sleep and immediately felt guilty. How could she be sleeping when Alex was out there, missing? She stood up from the table and rubbed absent-mindedly at the large red mark on her cheek. Sleeping at tables is seldom a good idea. She walked through to the living room where Amethyst sat with her back to the kitchen, gazing silently at the coffee table.

"Thys?" said Jack quietly. "How are you holding up?"

The other woman sniffed a bit as Jack sat down beside her. "Ok, I guess. I just put David to bed. I just can't help but think..." she broke off abruptly, looking away.

"Think what?" questioned Jack.

"Oh!" cried Amethyst. "What if - whoever took him- what if it was because of me or David?" She broke down into sobs. Jack wrapped an arm around her and stared at the window. She wished she could let it all out as easily as Amethyst, but all those months of waiting for Alex to come home, of having to pretend that nothing was wrong, made her keep it bottled up. She knew he would come home to them. He always did eventually.

She frowned as a pair of headlights drew up outside the house. The car was almost silent, in fact Jack was willing to best that she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't seen it by chance. She didn't know how she knew, maybe after living with Alex for nearly a decade some of his skills had rubbed off on her, but she tensed, sensing something wasn't right.

"Thys?" she said quietly. "I think you should go, get David and leave. Something's not right."

Amethyst looked up and saw the car. Wordlessly, she slipped up the stairs.

Jack stood and looked out of the window, frozen. She couldn't quite believe this was happening. Nothing like this had ever happened before; it was supposed to be _safe_ here.

She was started into action by the door being kicked in. She flew into the kitchen and began to search the cupboards desperately.

"Gun, gun, gun..." she muttered frantically to herself. She knew Ian had kept one somewhere in here, though she had never found it, and as far as she knew they had never got rid of it. It had to be around here somewhere.

Her search was brought to a halt by something hard and cold prodding her in the lower back.

"Raise your hands and turn around, or I shoot," said a low, deadly voice.

***

Alex tried to ignore the burning pain in his skin. It wasn't easy. His skin was little more than a wall of cuts and bruises; he couldn't find a single patch unmarked. He also had some nasty burns across his stomach and he thought that his left arm was fractured.

But he was grateful that he had finally been left alone, even his arms had been untied - for now. His movements were slow and jerky from the pain as he shifted on the cold floor. He wasn't especially surprised that they had untied him. This cell would be almost impossible to escape from, and even if, by some miracle, he could, he wouldn't get far. He could barely move, let alone walk or run.

He groaned, turning his head away, as the door to his cell opened; he had hoped for a few more hours respite before they came back.

He heard a muffled scream, and raised his head to look at his tormentors in curiosity. Why were they screaming? What he saw made his heart freeze. Jack, forcibly restrained by Peters. Junkov followed behind them. Both men had guns at their hips.

Alex growled in anger and tried to push himself up. All he managed was an awkward kneeling position, but it was better than lying down in front of _them._ His eyes flicked once over Jack. She was terrified, and had a nasty, purple bruise on a cheek, but apart from that she seemed unharmed. That was good. He would have killed them if they had hurt her.

Junkov turned to Alex, gloatingly holding a knife to Jack's throat. Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion. She didn't know what they wanted, only that they wanted something, and were willing to hurt both her and Alex to get it.

"So, Rider," said Junkov, his soft voice deceptively sweet, "Are you going to tell us what we want to know? Or dies Miss Starbright, here-" he jerked the knife sideways, scraping Jack's tender flesh and drawing a whimper from her gagged mouth.

"No!" he called, hoarsely. "I'll talk," he said, going limp in defeat, "Just let her go."

Junkov motioned to Peters, and Jack was pushed roughly into the cell. She landed, sprawling next to Alex, unable to stop the force of the fall with her hands tied behind her back. Alex quickly reached out and yanked down the gag.

"Oh, God, Alex!" she exclaimed softly. "Are you ok?"

"I'll live," he said, smiling. "How are you? Did they hurt you?" He reached out a hand and gently stroked the horrendous bruise on her cheek.

Jack shook her head. "I'm fine, just this."

"Touching. Now, if you please Mr Rider..."

Alex began to speak, his tone emotionless and detached. "He has a son, and a woman who is as good as his wife. They were attacked just over a week ago." He paused and Junkov nodded thoughtfully. It obviously fitted with what information they already had, so far. "They came to me for help." At this Junkov started and looked surprised. Alex ignored him and continued, his head hanging low in a picture of defeat. "I got them tickets on the Euro-Star to Paris, and money to buy flights when they were there." He stopped talking, forcing himself to keep his breathing steady, or at least, no more erratic than it had been before. He prayed that Jack wouldn't give him away

Junkov looked angry, noted Alex silently. "Scorpia has a long arm, Rider. Did you really think sending them out of the country would save them?"

Alex shrugged, then winced as the movement aggravated the knife marks on his chest. Junkov started forward violently, but was brought up short by the ringing of his mobile. He stepped outside to answer it.

Five minutes later, he returned, an evil glint in his eye. "You're lying to us, Mr Rider," he said, "and now _both_ of you are going to have to pay the price."

***

A/N: Ok, so I didn't get that many reviews for the last chapter... let's see if we can improve on that shall we? It's easy to do! And it makes the author very motivated! If there was something wrong with the last chapter, could you still review to tell me, then I'll know not to do it again? Anyways... REVIEW


	7. Direst Cruelty

_A/N: Ok, so I'm a little worried about this chapter. It is essential to the plot – yes this story dies actually have a planned plot, it's not just a random collection of unlikely things – but I'm worried about the characterisation. Oh... and please don't kill me at the end! I'm not pitchfork proof and if I die you'll never find out the ending!_

_DISCLAIMER: _

_Shopping List- __Tomatoes__, __Celery__, __biscuits__, the rights to Alex Rider_

_Ok, so they had sold out. Guess that means they STILL aren't mine. Don't you just hate these shoddy supermarkets that only stock half the items on your list?_

***

Alex watched in horror as Peters roughly yanked Jack to her feet. She shouldn't be involved in this. She wasn't _supposed_ to be involved in this. He couldn't quite believe it was happening and, with pain fogging his brain, he couldn't quite react.

Then Peter's touched his knife to her throat. Slowly, almost lovingly, he sank it below her pale skin. It was a shallow cut, but Alex could feel it tearing at his insides as he saw the terror on her face. Then he saw a solitary drop of blood run down her throat. Red on white. White behind red.

Alex just saw red.

He leapt at the guard, rage and adrenaline making him immune to the torturous pain that immediately engulfed his body. He didn't bother with any of the fancy kicks or chops he had learnt in Karate; he simply barrelled into the man, knocking him backwards. He pulled back a fist and slammed it into the man's face, feeling his nose break with a satisfying crack... but the man was already unconscious. He had hit his head as Alex's weight brought him to the ground.

Alex felt himself being forcibly dragged of Peters, and a fist sink itself into his gut. He doubled over, screaming at the pressure on his wounds. The next blow caught him on the chin and sent him staggering backwards into the wall. Junkov was positively spitting with rage.

Alex raised his head. Junkov was holding a gun mere centimetres from his face. The black hole seemed to promise cruel oblivion. He wasn't ready to die yet, he realised. He wanted to escape; he needed to get Jack out and ensure that Amethyst and her son were safe. _He didn't want to die. _

He knew it was cowardly, but he closed his eyes. He couldn't be as strong as everyone thought he was. He couldn't look his death in the face.

A shot rang out.

Alex raised his head in confusion. He was unharmed. Instead, he saw, Junkov had fallen to the ground, his shirt slowly turning red with blood. Jack, white faced and trembling, stood behind him, Peters' black gun held tightly in her shaking hands.

***

After that, breaking out of the prison had been far easier than expected. Junkov had decided that secrecy would prove more effective than man power, and so there was only one other guard and a few locked doors for them to deal with.

In total, it took them just over fifteen minutes. Jack was still pale, still shaking, though now it was with disbelief rather than fear. Alex was loathe to return to the house in Chelsea, somehow it now seemed dangerous after Jack had been taken from within its very walls, but it was the logical place to go, first, and there was the matter of Amethyst and David, who could still be there, waiting for them to return.

The house was dark when they let themselves in, and quiet. Alex realised that he had only been gone for a little under twenty four hours. It surprised him how lifeless the house seemed after being abandoned for so short a while. The place was tidy – the mess Jack had made when she had been abducted gone. In its place there was a short note.

"_Dear Alex or Jack- who ever reads this first._

_I'm sorry. I loved the time I spent with you, and I know David began to see you as family, but I have no idea where you are and I have to look after my son. I don't know why you were taken, but if they were looking for us, they have come dangerously close to their target. I felt I had to leave. I know that this probably seems cowardly to you, and I would happily gamble my life to save you from whatever your fate currently is, but I cannot gamble with my sons. I hope you understand. I hope you are alive to read this._

_Always yours,_

_Amethyst."_

Alex bit his lip as he read, handing the note to Jack once he finished. Her sad, accepting smile mirrored his own feelings perfectly.

It was Jack who moved first. She crossed to the side and picked up the phone.

"Who are you calling?" asked Alex.

Jack gave him an incredulous look before replying. "The hospital," she said shortly.

Alex looked down. He was still bleeding from the cuts that covered his chest, and the makeshift bandage that he had improvised from a shirt was not doing a lot to help. He pointedly ignored the hanging flap of skin.

He grimaced in admission. He was a mess. What worried him most wasn't the excruciating pain – pain was just an indicator that something was wrong; when you knew what was wrong already, it was pointless – but rather the fact that he had relegated potentially _life-threatening_ injuries to the back of his mind as _unimportant_, the fact that he had actually _forgotten_ them. Perhaps he was more suited to this line of work than he thought.

Whether it was his sudden realisation, or whether the blood loss had finally surpassed his tolerance level, Alex didn't know, but suddenly he felt dizzy. Jack's voice grew faint, and the room started to spin around him. He put a hand on the table to steady himself, frowning as he tried to bring the room back into focus.

"Alex..." he heard Jack shout. But he couldn't see her.

He groaned, and gave up. Trying to stay awake was giving him a headache.

For the third time in just one day, Alex passed out.

***

Alex awoke in a white hospital room. The steady beeping of the monitors around him was all that told him he was alive. He guessed they had him on some kind of pain killers as he couldn't feel a thing from the neck down. Experimentally, he moved his hand. It was decidedly weird to see your own hand move and not be able to feel it, he decided.

He was distracted by someone clearing their throat from beside his bed and tilted his head. Mrs Jones, the deputy head of MI6, sat there patiently.

"Alex," she said, almost – _almost-_ smiling. She was trying to look kind. It wasn't working.

"Mrs Jones," said Alex, nodding politely, if coolly, at the woman.

"Alex," she repeated, "I know it must be hard for you... but we need to know who did this... and why."

Alex grimaced. Of course they needed to know. They didn't care less about what happened to him, he knew, but the fact that there was a potential threat that they hadn't known about was definitely something they should worry about. He could see the next question in her eyes.

_Did you say anything? Did you spill our secrets?_

Alex would have spat in disgust if he thought it would result in anything except him looking like an idiot. As it was, he sneered at her and turned his head to face the ceiling again.

"It was Scorpia," he began in a low, emotionless voice. "They wanted information on Yassen Gregorovitch. For some reason they thought I would have it."

He decided not to mention the fact that he did. Apparently Amethyst and David were important, and he wouldn't trust MI6 to protect them any more than he would Scorpia.

And he didn't, at the moment, know exactly where they were. Safe, he hoped.

Mrs Jones nodded, apparently satisfied that he couldn't have said anything.

She paused, before asking the final question on her agenda.

"And have you had an opportunity to consider our offer?" she questioned.

"The job as an assassin?" he asked sardonically.

Mrs Jones winced at his harsh words, but was calm when she nodded in confirmation.

"I'll do it."

***

_A/N: *holds up hands and surrenders*_

_Yeah I know... I'm REALLY sorry. It was too fast and kind of out of character, and possibly just a bit unbelievable (as in more unbelievable than MI6 employing a teenaged spy) but it was NECESSARY for the PLOT and if you ain't got plot, you ain't got nothing..._

_So... yeah... that' my excuse. Please review... even if it's just to yell at me and to tell me I can't write and to wish I had dropped off the face of the earth before this chapter had been written._


	8. Dares Do More

_**A/N: **__Ok, so I'm hoping that this is better than the last chapter. I've tried to explain Alex's choices a bit, so hopefully you will mostly cease to hate me._

_**DISCLAIMER:**__ You know the drill._

***

Miss Jones froze, speechless. She had recognised the brilliance behind Blunt's idea of asking Alex to become their new assassin. He was already their biggest secret, any legal records were in a position to be erased at the touch of a button, if digital. All others had been gathered and stored within the Royal and General itself. If it were ever to become necessary, all traces that Alex Rider had ever existed could be removed. He also had the best success record of any agent they had ever employed, as well as completing missions quickly, effectively and barely needing down time afterwards. _Although, _she admitted guiltily, _he probably should have had more than we gave him._

But despite all the obvious benefits, she couldn't help but feel a little anxious about giving a sixteen year old a gun. He was still a child after all. And besides, she had never thought that he would actually accept!

Alex was still looking at her, she noticed. When had his eyes become so cold? Was that a recent thing, or had it been in place ever since they had started using him? With a pang of something akin to remorse, she realised that he was no longer a child. They had ripped his childhood away from him when they sent him on that first mission. Suddenly, she couldn't look into those hard, adult eyes any longer.

"I- We'll arrange a meeting. We'll send a car to Chelsea when you are released."

She walked quickly out of the room, avoiding his gaze.

***

Two days later, Alex was sitting opposite Blunt and Jones. A car had picked him up from hospital and dropped him straight here. It was Blunt who broke the silence.

"You have already agreed to work for us, Mr Rider. You are merely here so that we can discuss your contract."

"This is a standard contract, Alex," began Mrs Jones, pushing a piece of paper towards him. "It outlines security procedure should you be caught, various agreements about things you can or can't do... predominantly related to your health and security of others around you. For example, you would not be able to smoke, or have more than two alcoholic drinks... unless it was vital for your current mission to succeed. And, obviously, it re-states the conditions of the official secrets act, though as you have already signed, that shouldn't have any effect."

"It also," interrupted Blunt, "dictates your pay. We normally pay our agents per assignment, with a small weekly wage in between. You will be no different, with the small exception that the payment for the assignment will be paid into your Uncle's account, and will be slightly reduced to make up for the increase in weekly payment."

"Why?" asked Alex, curiously.

It was Mrs Jones who answered. "Miss Starbright cannot know the nature of your employment with us, and it would seem suspicious if a large amount of money was periodically deposited in your bank account. You can tell her that this meeting was to discuss payment for your previous missions, as well as the weekly payment you are receiving."

"And you're actually going to pay me for them?" asked Alex, amused.

"Of course," replied Jones, taking Alex aback. "We have been remiss in leaving it until now. Half has been paid into your account, while half has been paid into your Uncle's- we do not want to draw attention to you through such a large payment."

Alex nodded, surprised. He had not thought that they would actually pay him for them.

"Is there anything else you would like to add, Rider?" asked Blunt.

Alex nodded; after all, this was the entire reason that he had taken the job.

"Yes," began Alex, slowly. If they didn't agree to this, the entire deal was off. He was only doing this for one reason and he was smart enough to know that you had to give something to MI6 to get anything back. This seemed like the best thing at the time. "Jack... well... they kidnapped her... because of me. I want her to be safe, I want her to be... protected against any future attacks, ok?" He looked up, Jones was nodding. He took a deep breath. Now for the risky bit. "I also... I don't want her to have any problems with... what happened. I want any legal charges to just... disappear, ok? It was in self-defence, and he was an international terrorist. Surely this comes under the in-the-line-of-duty heading seeing as _I_ was the reason she was there."

Jones seemed to have frozen slightly. "Alex..." she began, "Did she... did Miss Starbright shoot someone?"

Alex nodded.

"That is a criminal offense, Rider," said Blunt, coldly.

Alex's lips curled momentarily into a sneer, before he forced himself to resume his mask. When he spoke, his voice was still hissing with anger and contempt.

"Yes, it is. But we both know that if it went to court, she would be let off. It was in self-defence, and prevented me being shot. Of course... if you want it to go to court... I'm sure we can afford a good lawyer to get her off. I just thought you would want to keep my name out of it. Who knows what could... slip out. It's not every day that MI6's "secret weapon" takes to the witness stand."

Blunt's face became even more expressionless and cold, if that were possible. Eventually he nodded and Alex rose to leave, correctly assuming that the meeting was over. They had agreed to his conditions, now he just had to keep his side of the bargain. He shuddered.

He was already at the door when they decided to drop the last bomb shell on him.

"Oh, and Alex?" called Mrs Jones. "You will be attending Breacon Beacons again for two weeks. I believe your Christmas Break is coming up soon?"

Alex gritted his teeth and nodded. He should have known that the meeting had gone too well.

"Perfect," smiled Jones, "I'll make the arrangements."

***

It was the start of the Christmas holidays and Alex found himself standing in front of a familiar Sergeant.

"Cub," said the man quietly.

"Sir."

"Why are you back here?"

"Training, Sir," replied Alex, deciding to keep his answers as honest and uninformative as possible.

"I can see that," said the Sergeant dryly, looking at a piece of paper held in his hand. "They want you brought up to speed on weapons, unarmed combat and stealth, on top of all the usual fitness and endurance training... This is far more weapons orientated than last time, Cub. What has changed?"

Alex looked him straight in the eye as he replied. "I'm sorry, Sir, that's classified."

The Sergeant's mouth tightened, but he gave no other sign of annoyance. "Very well," he said gruffly. "You will be in the barracks you were in last time. You're in luck, the unit currently occupying it are leaving tomorrow; you should have it to yourself for the first week. Report to the shooting range in an hour."

Alex nodded and went to dump his stuff on his bunk.

***

A week later, Alex was trudging through the mud with a pack on his back. It had been a long day and he was exhausted. At least this time he hadn't had K-Unit sabotaging him at every turn. The unit he had shared with on the first night, S-Unit, had been new and untrained but friendly enough – if slightly nervous – once they saw him at the shooting range and realised that he probably _did_ belong there.

The shooting range...

He had been good, almost too good. It had scared him how easily he had hit the bull's-eye, how naturally the gun had moulded to his grip. All his training from Scorpia had flooded back to him and he had never once missed. S-Unit weren't the only ones who were nervous of him after that. Most of the men ignored him, or tried to avoid him – even the Sergeant had been a bit taken aback.

It had been a lonely week.

He wasn't seriously complaining, though: it could have been far worse; he handled worse than this at _school,_ for gods' sake. Admittedly not in this situation, but at least here he didn't have to lie about being sick or hide his past or deal with rumours that implicated him as a drug dealer. After two years, it hadn't noticeably improved and he still only really counted Tom as his friend. He let out a low, sardonic laugh as he realised he was more comfortable in the camp than at school. Gods, had he ever really thought he could be normal? As much as he wanted it, he knew it was an impossibility.

He crested the last hill, and the main camp came into view. He smiled grimly and started the treacherous descent.

As he was drawing near his bunk, he heard voices coming from inside the small hut. Familiar voices. Alex stifled a groan. He had been told that another unit would be moving in today, they had come back for refresher training, apparently, and it should not affect Alex too much, though they might be doing a few of the same exercises. No-one had told him that it would be _them._

He walked into the room. Four large, intimidating men were scattered around it. They turned towards him as he came in.

"Well, well..." said Wolf. "If it isn't little Double-O-Nothing."

Alex winced. Suddenly he found himself wishing to be ignored again.

***

_**A/N:**__ Yes, he went back to SAS. No, I will not be writing every detail of the next week. This story is not about Alex's not-so-fun time at SAS. It is not about K-Unit. I put this in for two reasons. First, he has been out of the field for almost two years; I find it unlikely that MI6 would just let him loose without some form of training. Secondly, an improved relationship with Wolf will prove important later on. If anyone wants, for some strange reason, to write about this week, feel free, but I won't be._

_Sorry to disappoint._

_Anyways..._

_Review, damn you! I know you're out there! _

_(A friend told me this one works, I thought I'd give it a try!)_


	9. Stepp'd So Far

_A/N: Ok... so excuses time... I- I... I got nothing. Sorry!_

_DISCLAIMER: If I owned Alex Rider, would I currently be sitting at home panicking about failing my exams/not getting into university/messing up my entire life? No of course not. I would already have it made._

_***_

For the next week, Alex found himself once more playing the part of unwilling tag along to K-Unit. It had begun in exactly the same way as his last jaunt to the SAS, but after seeing him in action - and after he had trounced them in the shooting range - Snake, Eagle and Panther seemed to have grown to like him. Wolf was still the same cold-eyed bastard he had been the first time, but this too was tempered with a grudging respect. According to Eagle, who, Alex had discovered, was the most talkative of the group, Wolf's temper stemmed more from the fact that Alex, at sixteen, shouldn't be risking his life for his country, than from any personal insult taken from Alex's presence. Alex had simply smirked and replied with a sarcastic comment.

"Aw... I never knew he cared!" he said, putting on his best innocent, happy expression. This earned him a light cuff on the back of his head and a grin from Eagle.

But after a week of training, even Wolf's attitude lightened up and Alex found in him the man that the soldiers saw, the man who could inspire loyalty and trust. Alex knew he could rely on Wolf if he ever needed to. Well, as long as it didn't put the rest of the team in danger... or counteract his orders... or-

Well, Alex knew that Wolf wouldn't sabotage him anymore at least.

When the day came for him to leave, the K-unit were surprised to see him packing his bags. Apparently they thought he had been staying as long as they were.

He smiled as he explained. Eagle actually seemed disappointed.

"You really are one of the team, Cub," he said quietly, as Alex walked towards the door.

Alex smiled tightly at him. He knew it was just words, whether Eagle meant them or not. He would always, in the end, be on his own. It was the nature of the job. Agents might work in pairs occasionally, but that had never really worked out for Alex. And assassins _always_ worked alone.

He knew this. And he knew that he couldn't tell them. So he smiled at Eagle, and hid the deadened feeling deep within himself, where even he couldn't find it.

***

The Sergeant met him at the exit, where a car was to pick him up. Wordlessly, he held out a blank, brown envelope which Alex took. He knew what it was and he couldn't open it here. He would examine it on the journey. He saluted his Commanding Officer, and climbed into the car. He purposefully ignored the worried, almost angry, expression on the older man's face, hoping that the man hadn't recognised the envelope for what it was, though he knew the hope was futile. Of course he would have recognised it. Alex sighed, and turned the envelope over in his hands. It contained his first assignment.

Cautiously, he opened it, and looked at the photo inside. It was a man. He was middle-aged, fifty-four according to the attached sheet of information, and was slightly rotund, as if he had been enjoying eating well and drinking heavily for several years. It did not say why they wanted him dead. It did not say anything about his personal life. All it contained apart from a brief, physical description and comments on his health, was a copy of his usual routine.

Alex studied it carefully. Clinically, he noted that the man walked to his office, and that his route always took him down the same streets. This would be the best time, he decided. He checked the mission details again. It did not matter how he was killed, it could look like an accident or a professional job - it didn't matter, as long as he died. Alex swallowed. A sniper rifle then, shot from a rooftop on the man's route. He forcibly pushed the memory of the time he himself had been shot from his mind. He efficiently discounted the similarities. This was different. This was done in service of his country. This was done to protect people; it would save lives. He refused to think about the fact that killing him would also have saved lives, if not the lives of the innocent.

The man lived in London. Alex wouldn't even have to disappear from home for more than a few hours. He could do it tomorrow morning, if he stopped at the bank to get the gun.

***

It was eight o'clock in the morning and Alex was lying on the top of a department store. The target would be walking past anywhere between half eight and nine. He quickly set up the rifle, and pulled a grey hat over his conspicuous blond hair. A pigeon landed next to him, and Alex was suddenly reminded of his dreams last night. There had been a bird in that... a dove, he remembered dimly. But slowly it had turned black; its soft feathers growing course and its gentle bill turning into the cruel beak of a vulture. The dreams had been a storm of shadows and ghosts, of darkness and blood. He had been following a path, but it had slowly faded away into nothing until all that was guiding him was a host of spectral hands, all pushing and pulling him in different directions. There had been only once spec of light and Alex had tried desperately to reach it, but no matter which way he turned, no matter which way the hands turned him, he couldn't seem to find the right path...

The pigeon took off and Alex started. He was being superstitious. Dreams didn't mean anything. They were merely a tool of the subconscious to organise the day's events. He turned his eyes back to the street.

After almost half an hour, the target appeared on the end of the street. Alex followed his movement down the road intently through the scope. His breathing slowed. His heart beat seemed to echo through the silence that had descended as all the other street noises seemed to fade away. It was just him, the gun and the target. He eased his finger on the trigger.

He hesitated for a moment. This was it. He could still decide not to do this. He thought of Jack, this was keeping her safe. This was making the world a safer place, not just for him and Jack, but for everyone: his friends at school, his neighbours, those strangers on the street who walked past him every day. Amethyst and David...

He pulled the trigger.

He didn't stay to admire the shot. He knew it had hit and so ignored the screams of passersby. He was gone before the body hit the ground. It wasn't a man, just a target.

It was ironic, he thought. Scorpia had been wrong. You don't need the right target, just the right motivation.

He automatically repressed a shudder at the thought of what he had done. He didn't even realise he did so.

"Just a target," he whispered.

***

His next target was a woman, about thirty years old. He took the Eurostar to Paris and shot her as she took a photo of the Eiffel Tower. She wasn't a tourist, just a target, he told himself, over and over. He arrived back home about four, talking enthusiastically to Jack about the day he had spent playing football with Tom.

He ignored the feelings of guilt he felt about lying to her, pushing them down to be consumed by that deadened feeling he was hiding so successfully. Strange, it seemed to be growing every day.

He went upstairs and sat down to finish an essay for French. It was the first day back at school tomorrow.

***

Alex sat in the classroom, waiting for registration to start. Tom was late again, so he sat alone. He couldn't say he minded, not today at any rate. He felt cut off from everyone.

He was disturbed from his melancholy musings by a commotion in front of him.

"She got engaged over Christmas!" exclaimed one girl, Katy.

Alex looked up, pretending to be interested. "Who got engaged?" he questioned, lightly, playing the part of school boy that he could slip into almost effortlessly now, no matter how fake it felt.

"My sister!" beamed Katy. Thrusting a newspaper at him as she added, "Have you seen the announcement?"

Alex smiled and took the paper, his eyes scanning the announcements. He wasn't really interested. He was just being polite. The advert was small, and not especially interesting. His eyes, bored already, began to meander across the rest of the page. They stopped on the obituaries, arrested by a familiar face staring out of the paper. It was his first target, the business man who worked in London.

Words seemed to leap out of the page at him.

"_Beloved Father..."_

"_...survived by daughters Helen, 18, and Isabelle, 12, and his wife Felicity."_

"_He will be missed."_

His hand started shaking uncontrollably. _What had he done?_

Suddenly all those suppressed emotions came flooding back. The guilt... the depression... the pain. His breathing came short and fast. His stomach started heaving.

He stood up as the room started to spin, ignoring the teacher, who was standing, irritated, at the front of the room, waiting for his class to shut up. He rushed past Tom, who had just appeared at the doorway, heading for the toilets down the corridor.

If anyone had seen him, crouched in the corner of the bathroom, sweating and shaking, as white as a sheet, they would have believed all the rumours about him, no matter how unlikely. He buried his face in his hands and tried to push back the overwhelming guilt.

Tom came in quietly and crossed to his friend.

"Alex?" he said, uncertainly. "Are you ok?"

Alex didn't reply immediately, and Tom crossed to his side, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, God, Tom," moaned Alex. "What have I done? I- I- I..." he trailed off into silence. The shaking increased.

"Al, you don't look so good, maybe I should take you to see the nurse."

Alex shook his head, obstinately. "I'm fine," he muttered, trying to stand.

Tom looked at him sceptically. He didn't look fine. He was hyperventilating and his pupils were dilated with shock. He needed something to calm him down.

Tom suddenly began to rummage through his pockets. He pulled out a box of battered hay-fever tablets, left over from September. He handed one to Alex who took it without comment and swallowed it. Hopefully the drowsy side effect would help to calm him down.

Apparently it did, as Alex's breathing began to return to normal.

Tom sighed and helped his friend to his feet. He was still too pale, but at least he wasn't shaking anymore. He opened the door to the classroom and answered the teacher's questioning glance with a shrug. Just another thing to add to the mystery that was Alex Rider. No doubt they would make up some rumours about a bad hit, or a withdrawal symptom. Tom didn't believe them. He didn't know what was wrong, but he knew that Alex had never taken drugs, and he was smart enough to realise that whatever had caused the panic attack was probably protected under the Official Secrets Act. He didn't ask further; if Alex wanted him to know, he would tell him.

***

It took a grand total of two hours for rumours to start flying. They were still all drug related. _Honestly, _mused Tom, _people have no imagination_. Apparently, Alex was a drug addict and was suffering from schizophrenia, or withdrawal symptoms from trying to go cold turkey, or he had had a bad trip last weekend and was now having flashbacks. All of them were based around him running, white faced, from registration.

It took two more hours for the rumours to stop completely. People stopped talking about Alex. They stopped looking at him. Even Tom found himself shying away from meeting his gaze. They were scared.

Before this, despite knowing he was a fantastic fighter, no-one had really been scared of Alex. No-one had seriously believed he was a druggie either for it didn't make sense; it was just something to talk about. But now...

Alex had stopped acting. He stopped making his movements just that little less co-ordinated and stopped the deliberate fidgeting in class or in the queue for lunch. He was always perfectly composed. He moved like a dancer: as graceful as a rapier and twice as deadly. His eyes were cold and completely devoid of human emotion. He felt empty, numb almost. The looks no longer bothered him.

***

Two days later, Alex found himself in the Royal & General again. Mrs Jones had just debriefed him on his last two assignments, complimenting him on how efficiently they had been carried out. Neither case had any suspects. She pushed another plain brown envelope across to him. He emotionlessly slipped a finger under the seal and opened it. Mrs Jones regarded the boy in front of her. She knew something was wrong. He seemed cold, almost broken. It was as if all human emotions had been viciously ripped out of him, leaving only icy pain behind.

It was all their fault.

Alex was looking blankly at the picture of the blond woman in his hand.

"We have reason to believe that she has kidnapped a small boy. You are to kill her and retrieve the boy," explained Mrs Jones. "She is known as Amethyst. She is a Scorpia agent."

***

_A/N: Ok so you have a nice long chapter here, so why don't you click on that little button and REVIEW?!_

_And I know, barely any K-Unit. I did warn you about that. I would put more in, but whenever I write about K-Unit it seems to have a substantially lighter mood than this piece. I don't particularly want you all to still be laughing hysterically at Eagle's antics while you're supposed to be focusing on Alex's almost total emotional breakdown._

_But if you are mad at me for not putting enough of them in? REVIEW and TELL ME! :D_


	10. What's Done

_A/N: ok so here is the next chapter. I have some good news as well! This story is FINISHED. I am DONE writing it! :D you have two more chapters, plus an epilogue. It was originally going to be fourteen chapters, but the ending kind of snuck up on me. It will probably be going through a massive overhaul between now and posting._

_Anyway. Onto the story._

_DISCLAIMER: I, unfortunately, only own Alex Rider in my dreams____. In this reality, he belongs to Anthony Horrowitz._

***

Alex walked into his house without making a noise. It was instinctual now, and he didn't bother to hide it.

Jack was sitting on the sofa. She did that a lot lately, he noted. She was either a flurry of activity, almost to the point of violence, or she sat doing nothing just staring at the wall. He knew he should be worried, but somehow he just couldn't find it within him anymore.

He walked upstairs to take a look at the mission briefing.

***

Jack tried to ignore the heaving of her stomach and continued to count the leaves of the plant beside the TV. If she could count them all then it would be ok. She _had_ to count them all. They would stop the nightmares.

She heard the door close in the hall and knew Alex was home. She didn't turn around.

Deep down, she knew she was being irrational. Deep down, she knew there was something wrong - with both of them, but she couldn't pull herself out of this pool of anguish and compulsion long enough to do anything about it. She had _killed_ someone. She was a _murderer_. By all rights she knew she should be rotting in a gaol cell right now, but somehow Alex had managed to get her out of that. Sometimes she almost wished that he hadn't. She let out a choked sob as she realised that she had lost count. Her hands started shaking as she started over.

***

Alex opened the file. There was more information than the last two. Her name and age were there, as well as her suspected links with Yassen. After that, it stopped agreeing with what Alex himself knew to be true. He stopped reading. He didn't need to know and it would just make things more complicated if he did. He had decided, shortly after taking the job, that he would just do as he was told. Leave the decisions of right and wrong up to them. He was the perfect tool.

There was a time and a place given, although Alex had no idea how they had got it. Normally, Scorpia agents try to be as unpredictable as possible. He had two instructions: rescue David and kill Am- the target. He would follow them to the letter.

***

It was Friday morning, the morning of the hit. He would go into school late – after the job was done. He already had the doctor's note tucked away in his pocket. He no longer cared that no-one believed him.

He looked at the iPod look-alike in front of him. It showed live feed from a camera across the street into room 306. Am- The target was supposed to have a meeting with her superior in that room in ten minutes. Orders had come through for him to shoot the extra person first and then find out from the primary target where the boy was. He checked his pocket for the key card that he had made an hour or so ago when he had hacked onto the hotel system.

He counted the minutes as he watched the miniature screen.

Someone entered the room. Alex watched the dark, indistinct figure as it carefully inspected the room, probably checking for bugs. It had been a good decision to plant the camera across the street.

Judging from the movement, it was obviously a man. The superior, then.

The man crossed to the window and closed the curtains.

Alex cursed under his breath. He now had no way of knowing when the target would arrive. He would have to go in early and wait in there. Slowly he slipped out of the closet and crossed to the door. He slipped the key into the lock, taking a handgun out of a holster strapped to his lower back. He flung open the door and raised the gun.

The man was dead before the door swung closed. Alex stepped into the room, carefully avoiding the blood already pooling on the beige carpet. He took position behind the door, holding the gun loosely in his grip.

It didn't take long for the door to open again. She stepped into the room. Alex raised the gun.

She froze as the cold, metal barrel pressed against the base of her skull.

"Who are you?" she asked, her hand beginning to shake.

"That doesn't matter. Just tell me where the boy is," said Alex, gruffly.

There was a shocked intake of breath. "A-Alex?" she asked, hesitantly.

Alex swallowed. _Just a target. Just a target. Just a target._

His hand began to shake. "Where is Da- the boy?" he asked again.

"Oh Alex!" moaned Amethyst. "Please, you have to help me reach him! They took him from me!"

Alex tried to ignore the hysteria in her voice. She was a Scorpia agent. It was obviously fake.

His hand began to shake.

A sob escaped her mouth.

"Fuck," he muttered, lowering the gun.

***

It was half an hour later. Alex had left Amethyst in a cheap hotel room, after talking to her. She was not a Scorpia Agent. Not willingly at least. They had taken David from her. They would kill him if she didn't do exactly what they said. Today she had been going to see him: that had been why she was meeting the other agent. That was one death Alex didn't regret.

He snuck down the dark corridor of Scorpia's new headquarters. It was in what appeared to be an abandoned garage, sandwiched between a church and a police station. Scorpia loved their irony.

The cellars extended directly beneath both, however and contained many different rooms, from armouries – which Alex had stumbled upon early on and so was now armed to the teeth- to training rooms. He believed that he had finally found the cells.

He leaned around the corner; there were two guards on the corridor, each with a key card attached to their belt. He guessed that they were to open the cells. He hated electronic locks, he couldn't pick them. At least this time he probably wouldn't have to.

He loaded the guns he was holding – one in each hand, one for each guard. He took a deep breath and leapt around the corner.

There were two shots, and both men fell to the ground, dead with a bullet between their eyes.

Quickly Alex rushed over and took the key cards off their belts. He started to open the cells. They were all empty, and Alex had started to give up hope. He slotted the card into the last door and let out a sigh of relief. David was inside.

"David?" he called, softly. "David it's me, Alex."

David looked up. "Alex?" he whimpered. "Where's Mummy?"

"I'll take you to her, I promise. But we need to get out of here."

David whimpered again and ran to him. Alex crouched down and picked him up, carefully checking him over for injuries. He wasn't hurt, just scared, which wasn't surprising. Being kidnapped at five years old was enough to traumatise any kid.

Alex pressed David's face into his shoulder, trying to shield the boy from the bloody remains that he had left in his wake. It didn't take them long to get out; the place was almost deserted after Alex's journey through it, though most evidence had been carefully hidden to avoid suspicion. Upon reaching the exit, he pulled a grenade from his pocket.

It was ironic that Scorpia's own weapon would be the one that would blow up their base. Well, that and the forgotten petrol in the disused tanks.

Alex pulled out the pin and chucked it carelessly back into the building.

He took off at a run.

***

Fifteen minutes later he was sitting on a park bench, with a mobile in his hand.

He typed in a number and pressed call.

"Good morning. This is the Royal and General Bank, how may we help you?"

"This is Rider. I need to talk to Jones or Blunt about my latest mission."

"I'm sorry sir-"

"Cut the crap," he snarled. "Just do that little voice monitor thing to confirm it's me then patch me through."

"I- er- right away sir," stammered the secretary.

"Alex?" came Mrs Jones' voice. "What is wrong?"

"Your sources were... incorrect," said Alex coldly.

"Amethyst was being blackmailed. I have rescued David and left Amethyst somewhere safe. What would you like my next course of action to be?"

Mrs Jones paused momentarily before replying.

"Come straight in.

***

_A/N: so what did you think? Any one got any ideas as to what is going to happen at the bank? :D _

_Now, I know reading this will probably really annoy you, so I'll make you a deal. IF you all review this time, and IF you promise to review next time as well, I'll shorten the A/N's for the rest of the story. Deal?_

_Ok... so... REVIEW!_


	11. The serpent under it

_DISCLAIMER: This is fanfiction. Therefore I am not Anthony Horowitz... did I go too fast for anyone?_

***

Alex ignored the receptionist as he crossed the lobby of the Royal and General. He was getting a few strange looks, after all it was not every day that an Agent walked in with a toddler in his arms, but Alex ignored them. He was _good_ at ignoring looks by now.

David's small hands were curled tightly against is chest, grasping at the material of his grey hoody. He couldn't quite believe that it had been mere hours ago that he had been holding a gun to Amethysts head; it seemed like a lifetime ago. He pressed the button in the lift and waited patiently as the doors closed and the lift rose steadily.

It stopped and he disembarked, heading for Blunt's office, where he knew they would be waiting for him. He knocked twice and entered. Mrs Jones greeted him with a smile. Blunt stayed as impassive as ever.

"Alex," smiled Mrs Jones. "And this must be David."

It was odd, mused Alex, that Mrs Jones had reacted to David in exactly the same manner as every other woman would – with a smile and the facial equivalent of "aww, he's so cute." Maybe she was human after all.

"Thank you for completing the mission, Alex, if not in the way we expected. You can leave the child with us, we will return him to his father."

Alex frowned. "His father's dead," he said slowly.

Mrs Jones' smile became slightly frozen. "Don't be ridiculous, Alex. He is dying to have his son back."

"And David's mother isn't?" he questioned lightly.

"His mother is dead," said Blunt coldly.

It was then that Alex realised. They were lying to him and had been lying to him all along. They had never thought Amethyst was a serious threat. They had never thought that she had kidnapped David. They wanted David to control him, to control those who cared about him. Just like Scorpia.

"Why do you want him?" asked Alex quietly. "I'll know if you lie."

"We've told you Alex," said Mrs Jones. "We just want to give him back to his father."

"And his mother is dead?" he asked quietly.

Mrs Jones nodded, and Alex recognised the relief in her eyes.

"His mother isn't dead, Mrs Jones. So why don't you try and tell me the truth?"

Alex heard the door open behind him, and two pairs of heavy footsteps entered the room. He glanced over his shoulder. Two burly security guards had entered the room, both holding a large, serious looking gun. Alex checked his own gun in his holster. Out of Ammo. Shit.

"David is Yassen Gregorovitch's son. Yassen is not dead, though he is in a coma. We need David to control him when he wakes up. Now hand him over," ordered Mrs Jones, her teeth clenched.

Alex felt himself stiffen in outrage. They wanted to use David as blackmail. Instantly everything fell into place, like a jigsaw where you couldn't understand the picture until that one key piece was revealed. He knew why Scorpia had spent so much time and effort on capturing David, and why MI6 wanted him. And he was not going to let David become a pawn in their twisted games.

"No," he said quietly.

"Alex," smiled Mrs Jones, "do you really think you have a choice?"

As if to emphasise her point, the cold barrel of a gun was pressed firmly into Alex's back.

Alex withdrew something from his pocket. His yoyo, new and improved by Smithers, complete with a string ten times the length and a much faster motor. Surreptitiously he tied it around the draw handle in front of him and stood up.

"David," he said quietly. "These men want you to go with them."

He paused as the gun was removed from his back.

"Hold on tight now," he cautioned the child.

He leapt.

He went straight over the desk and out of the large window behind Blunt. The glass shattered on impact and he was falling down desperately he scrambled at the yoyo, eventually managing to engage the motor, slowing his fall.

"Untie that bloody thing!" someone screamed from above him. "He can fall!"

Suddenly the string gave way and Alex fell. Luckily for him, he was only two metres from the ground.

He landed uncomfortably on his back and pocketed the yoyo, silently thanking Smithers.

"You ok?" he asked the small boy in his arms, who was still clinging tightly to his top, his face buried in the soft material. The small boy nodded, but didn't look up. Alex smiled and stroked his hair reassuringly, then took off at a run.

A spray of bullets behind him told him that he had only just moved in time.

***

Alex ran up the stone steps to his school. It was an odd place to come, he knew, but he needed some things and this was the quickest place to get them.

He burst through the double doors and immediately turned right into the office.

Miss Bedfordshire stared at him.

"Alex!" she exclaimed "Why are you so late?"

Alex glanced out of the window and saw his pursuit just reaching the school gate.

"Miss, please, I don't have time for this. Please just... look. This is David, could you look after him for a while? I promise I'll come back for him soon."

Miss Bedfordshire stared at him like he was crazy, but something in his desperate, determined eyes made her nod.

"Thank you. And don't let _anyone_ know that he's here. Ok?"

Again she nodded and Alex passed the toddler over. He hoped he had done the right thing, but he knew he had no other choice. He would never lose them if he had to worry about David.

As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, fleeing down the corridor to his maths classroom just as the men burst through the door.

His class stared at him as he entered. He knew he must look a state, wearing ripped trousers and with a large gash on his cheek from jumping out of the window.

"Alex," said Mr Donovan, staring confused at the teenager. "What on earth is going on?"

Alex flashed him a quick smile but otherwise ignored him. Acting quickly, he chucked his own phone in the bin and crossed to Tom.

"Hey, mate. Can I borrow your phone? I'll explain later."

"Is this -?" began Tom but Alex cut across him.

"Not now, Tom! I really don't have time."

Tom sighed and handed over his phone. Alex smiled his thanks, then turned sharply around as two men rushed into the room.

"Give it up, Rider," said one of them, obviously exasperated at having to chase him all over town.

Alex smiled cheekily at them and dived, once again, out of the window. The class stared and Alex winced as another shard of glass dug into him. He had to stop doing this- it was bloody painful.

***

It was going dark when Alex returned, having lost his pursuit about an hour previously. He was limping slightly from falling down a flight of stairs, and he still hadn't had a chance to clean up the cuts on his cheek, though they had thankfully stopped bleeding.

"Alex!" hissed Miss Bedfordshire, as he entered the office. "What on earth is going on? I had practically an entire army in here asking about a young child that YOU had left here. Why are they looking for David? What have you _done?!"_

Alex sighed and picked up David. "I can't say much, Miss Bedfordshire, I'm sorry. They want David to blackmail his father, and I'm trying to keep him safe, I'm sorry that's really all I can say."

Miss Bedfordshire nodded. In all honesty it was more than she had expected to get anyway. This entire incident practically had Top Secret stamped across it.

"And could you give this back to Tom Harris when you see him?" he asked.

She sighed and nodded, placing the mobile he handed her in her handbag.

When she looked back up, both he and David had gone, vanishing into the gathering darkness.

***

_A/N: So... I said I was going to cut A/N's down in length... then everyone told me they enjoy reading them :D ok... so not everyone, but some people! I also have a challenge to write an A/N that is more than 1000 words long... but I don't have time to do that today, maybe next chapter... only two chapters left! Please review... it makes me happy ___


	12. Sweet, Oblivious Antidote

_A/N: OMG, this is the final chapter! I can't believe it! So I included the epilogue in here as it was quite short, and I thought you might come after me with pitch forks if I didn't!_

_DISCLAIMER: For this entire story Anthony Horowitz has owned Alex Rider, why would that change now?_

***

Alex stopped outside the hotel. He knew he couldn't go in, in case of cameras, but luckily he didn't have to. When he had borrowed Tom's phone earlier – correctly assuming that his would be bugged or tracked – he had called Amethyst. She should be coming to meet them.

A few minutes later she was there, white and obviously slightly scared but she still smiled when she saw David, immediately pulling him into her arms and kissing the top of his golden curls.

"So what do we do now?" she asked quietly.

"I have to get you out of the country," he replied. "With the entire of MI6 looking out for me and David, it's not safe for you to remain here. You probably won't be recognised at passport control – they're looking out for me, not you." He frowned and looked at David. "Though some hair dye wouldn't go amiss... and I can probably get you fake passports."

Amethyst nodded and the three of them started to walk down the street. Amethyst went alone into a twenty-four hour supermarket to get some temporary hair dye, chocolate brown, and they worked quickly in the public toilets to change the colour. Forty minutes and fifty pounds later, Alex was standing outside a shady-looking building with two fake passports for an Amethyst and David Walschmitt, who were returning home to Germany. He had decided not to go with them. He knew it was risky, but their chances of escape would be far higher without him.

He reminded himself of this as he watched them disappear into the subway, heading for Heathrow. They were safe. He knew just enough of their plans to meet up with them if he ever got out of this. Unfortunately, something told him that he never would.

***

Alex wandered along the street, occasionally pausing in front of shop windows, as if interested in the displays. He wasn't. He was simply avoiding the gazes of the suspiciously forgettable men who would every so often pass by. With a grey hat over his hair, a pair of green contacts in and a fair amount of foundation used to darken his skin, he didn't think anyone who hadn't met him would recognise him, but he wasn't taking any chances. He stopped again in front of an electronics store as another agent walked past.

The news was on. Alex was about to turn away, when a familiar photograph appeared on the many flickering screens.

"Jack..." he murmured, changing direction and entering the shop.

He walked over to one of the TVs and looked at it.

"Jacqueline Starbright was found shot dead today in a flat in London. There are no suspects as of yet, though the police state that, if the victim wasn't so unlikely, it would be a classic gang killing. The only clue they currently have is a small silver scorpion that was left on the body..."

Alex stopped listening, his shoulders slumping in despair. So MI6 had stopped protecting Jack. He had never thought about the consequences for her. This was all his fault. He may as well let them kill him. Was this really what his life was going to be like? Always on the run... no-one who cared for him... and the deaths of innocent people on his hands.

He would prefer to die. He was _going_ to die...

... but he was damn well going to die as himself.

Out of nowhere, an extract from Macbeth wormed its way into his head.

"_Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,_

_Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,_

_Raze out the written troubles of the brain,_

_And with some sweet oblivious antidote_

_Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff_

_Which weighs upon the heart?"_

To which the doctor answered that the patient must minister to himself. Well... Alex knew the antidote now. And it was easy enough to administer.

***

Mrs Jones crossed the floor of Blunt's office.

"We found him," she said shortly. Blunt looked up. "He booked a room in a hotel about half an hour ago. We caught him on the security cameras. Shall we send in an agent?"

Blunt frowned. "No. Secrecy is hardly needed anymore. Send in someone from the SAS. One unit should do, one to enter the room and the others for back up."

Mrs Jones nodded, and placed the call.

***

Wolf listened to his commanding officer. It was an unusual assignment. Go to a hotel room in London and kill its occupant. Apparently it was a former spy who had turned against the government and harboured an international terrorist. When he looked at the photo and saw his one-time team mate, he didn't say anything, simply nodded and signalled the rest of his unit to follow him out. He didn't tell them who the target was.

***

Wolf kicked down the door. He wasn't really expecting the kid to be in the room. Surely Cub wouldn't be that stupid?

But he _was_ there and now Wolf had to do his job.

Wolf stared, partly in surprise and partly in horror. The kid just sat there. He knew they were here to kill him and yet it didn't seem to bother him. What had been done to him, to make him look like that? The impassive face turned to look at him. "Are you here to kill me, Wolf?" asked Cub, his voice low and hoarse. Wolf nodded, silently.

The boy – no, man, no-one with that amount of pain in his eyes could ever be called a child- let out a low laugh. "Answer me one thing first."

Powerless to resist the already-dead man, Wolf nodded.

"Why?"

He frowned. The kid didn't realise? "I'm sorry?" he asked incredulously.

"I know why they want me dead; I'm just wondering what they told you."

"You sold out your county to Scorpia. You protected an international terrorist. Why wouldn't they want you dead?"

"Figures," muttered Cub. "Bloody spies – never honest."

Wolf's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'never honest'?" he questioned suspiciously.

"Just do your job, Wolf. You don't need the answers. If you don't kill me you'll just get fired, and someone else will do it."

Five minutes later, a gunshot was heard. Wolf had pulled the trigger.

_**Epilogue**_

"_An investigation is pending into the mysterious, presumed-death of sixteen year-old Alex Rider. Police were alerted after a gunshot was heard from within the hotel room that he was staying in. Experts judge from the amount of blood that he was hit in a major artery and could not have survived, though as of yet no body has been found."_

Tom looked up in horror at the television, his spoon clattering to the table unnoticed. _'death of sixteen year-old Alex Rider…"_

His heart seemed to shudder erratically in his chest. His best friend…

'…_death of…'_

He couldn't think about it. Tom just stood frozen, staring at the morning news, unable to comprehend how the world could just carry on.

"…_sixteen year-old…"_

He couldn't understand how the sun was still shining. He didn't grasp how the news reporter could now be discussing something as trivial as the charity fundraiser at a local comprehensive.

"…_Alex Rider"_

Alex was dead, and still the world carried on. He had been a hero! He had saved all their lives! Tom felt disbelief replace the pain for a moment. _How could he do all that and still no-one realise? How could no-one care?_

He looked down at the cereal in front of him, the bile rising in his throat at the thought of eating. He pushed the bowl away. _Oh gods…_ _Alex_.

The door bell rang, and Tom went to answer it, functioning solely on automatic. He numbly pulled the door open to be faced with a stranger. Brown hair, blue eyes, slightly above normal height, and around Tom's age.

Tom noted the facts clinically, shutting down all his emotions. He couldn't deal with this right now.

The stranger smiled wryly, and Tom felt a flicker of recognition. "Hi, Tom. I guess you've seen the news this morning, then?"

Suddenly that flicker burst to life inside him. "Alex!"

***

Alex smiled as he waved goodbye to his friend. He was due on a plane to Germany in just over three hours and had to get to the airport for check in. He double checked his passport, shaking his head at the picture of him as a brunette. He'd never thought he'd see the day that Alex Rider would dye his hair brown

Then again, he wasn't Alex Rider anymore. Alex Rider was dead. He was Alex Walschmitt and he was on his way to stay with his sister, Amethyst, and her son, David, in Germany.

He liked Alex Walshmitt. He had no baggage and no hidden past, just a normal guy returning from a normal boarding school in England.

Yeah, he decided. Life was good.

THE END

_A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter seemed to pass very quickly, I tried to slow it down but it was like trying to stop an avalanche, it had way too much momentum for me to do anything about it! And I apologise to any Yassen fans who were waiting for him to wake up, but it wouldn't have helped the plot at all, so he got left out... I do however have plans for a sequel that definitely does involve Yassen, if any of you want to read it._

_Anyway, please review, in exchange for me not abandoning the fic halfway through? Please? I'm not ashamed to beg!_


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